Burnt Out
by TaillessGiraffe
Summary: Julia has struggled against her inner demons for years, an useless battle she was sentenced to lose. Now faced with dreams of blood and torture, she gives up her title of guildmaster, again running away from what felt like home. However Brynjolf, having been through his own personal struggle, lets emotions reign over reason, running after his former protegée and demanding answers.


"You can't do this".

She rapidly blinked her glazed eyes, her voice however void of any quivering.

"I have tried, Bryn. But I- this... I can't." her arms lifted and languidly fell again at her sides, all her strength focused on keeping the tears back from falling.

"Can't?" he spit, unable to stand on the same spot, walking from one side to the other in a maddening circle, "W-What kind of excuse is that?"

"I am _not_ making any-"

"DAMN RIGHT, you are!" he yelled, silencing her retort. It echoed inside the stone walls of the tomb, and she felt momentarily thankful he had closed the secret entrance behind him. She had never seem him this upset- he had never even raised his voice around her, had always had a witty response or a confident smirk at the ready. So to see him like this - shattered and trembling, a furious scowl distorting his normally calm features - it made her want to draw back, to blame it on a sudden loss of direction and for things to go back to the way they were before.

But she couldn't.

She didn't raise her voice when she gave him the first warning.

"**Brynjolf.**".

"NO, no, no!" he cried, waving a single hand at her, "I swear- you just _can't_ expect me to put up with this, to just- LEAVE, as if- shit, what- is this a GAME for you?"

"Brynjolf.", second warning, breath deep, keep it together, "please, you're not making sense- a game? Of course I don't think of this as a game, how can you even-"

"We-heh-ell...!" the thief raised his arms, "Excuse me, for not making any sense! I guess it's absolutely REASONABLE, taking a decision like this overnight!"

"That's not-"

"And now, now I guess you'll disappear, eh? Of course, leave the city and never come back-"

"Listen-"

"Because _you CAN'T_!" he laughed, a mirthless bark that ended abruptly. "Why, then it's O-KAY, Juls, I mean...!"

Another deep breath. "No, I know it's not okay".

"_OF COURSE IT'S NOT OKAY!_" he snapped, startling her, the first drops of a light rain crashing on his shoulders. "First you- you disappear without a trace for two weeks! Then you come back without even granting us with an explanation! A-and then, you tell us you're quitting! Just like that, without a single warning! Without one, single, REASON!"

She kept her head low. "I _did_ explain why I'm doing this".

"NO! No, you gave _them_ an _excuse_, Julia!" he growled, pointing a finger at the hidden entrance. "An excuse _they_ might have swallowed, but not me!"

The imperial spoke louder this time, trying her best to tame her inner beast and to not shout right back at him. "What _are_ you talking about? That's no excuse, Brynjolf- I... I **am** Dragonborn! The weight of the entire world put on my shoulders, remember? You know better than anybody what I have t-"

"YES! Yes, exactly" he took a step forward, both index fingers up. "I **know**, Julia- I have KNOWN for months! That treacherous skeever was still in charge the day you confessed me your little secret, and as far as I remember it has NEVER interfered with your life in the guild! So why do I have to- why should I believe that _now_, precisely when we're at our best moment- that NOW, of all times, being Dragonborn is an obstacle?"

She tried to reply, a pitiful, wordless whimper escaping her mouth instead. She cursed under her breath - can shout a dragon to death to save a village yet you lose your speech when it's your own ass in the line. The hooded woman tried to gulp down the lump in her throat before speaking, while the rain soaked her travelling attire- Brynjolf, however, didn't give her time to find her voice back.

"You were nearly KILLED, Julia! That bastard almost sliced you in half, left you for dead in some god-forsaken ruins, but you came back, damnit- and you slayed dragons, and explored tombs, and ran around doing the heroic deeds you were expected to do and then you CAME. BACK- always, always came back, you refused Nocturnal, for crying out loud, and STILL stayed, STILL fought for our cause, so WHY? Why should I believe-" he paused for a breath, pushing back the wet locks of hair sticking to his face with a suppressed groan, murmuring "I should have known, I just..."

Julia finally looked at him, knitting her brow and unable to stop her chin from trembling. "What?"

"I should have known...!" he repeated, pointedly arching his eyebrows.

"Know what?"

He snorted. "That you would do this!"

"_What?_"

"It's ALL you ever do!"

She didn't like where he was steering the conversation. To dark places. Places she did not want to re-visit, not now, not from him. "**Brynjolf.**"

"When I met you at the market- the way you flinched at every praise, the way you stayed '_training_' underground for weeks before actually leaving the city for a job- I knew it, damnit, I knew you were hiding from something, I knew it and STILL didn't- _agh_!" he wrung his hands at each sides of his head. "You were a scared little girl, on a constant escape, and then you saw a way out, and you took it- that's all this ever was for you, an escape route from your responsibilities, every damn thing we've gone through a simple DIVERSION."

She wanted to speak, but his words had her frozen in place, staring at him in shock. And he didn't notice, didn't care to see it in her face that he was _killing_ her, venom running through his veins and fogging his judgment.

"But now that you are finally done with that cursed prophecy, now that you are done feeling guilt and pity for yourself and fulfilled the demands from people who couldn't care less about your opinion on the matter, about your SAFETY- the guild is yet another dead WEIGHT on your shoulders!"

He took another step, his fists clenching and nails digging into his palms.

"YOU'RE RUNNING AWAY, LIKE YOU ALWAYS DO! No matter how many beasts of legend you've killed, you're still a scared little brat, afraid of not meeting EVERYBODY'S expectat-"

"**SHUT UP!**" she shouted, a faint trace of thu'um making the nearest walls vibrate and sending the old thief stumbling back. "SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT. UP." she kept screaming, taking a step towards the gaping ginger with every cried word. She talked between angry sobs now, no longer bothering to hold back. "How dare you?! How dare you speak about it as if you KNEW- as if you could ever imagine what, **this**, is like!"

She advanced another step, and the now dripping wet nord tried to steady his feet and counterattack, but she was faster.

"And how dare you use my own words- the FEARS that I shared with you because I TRUSTED you, against me?! You think being Dragonborn is all about killing a few dragons?! That once Alduin was dead, it would ALL be over? I thought you knew better! I talked to you about- about how this was CHANGING me, Brynjolf, I told you about this writhing, DARKNESS, taking over me- I **wish** it was over once the _big, bad dragon_ was defeated, BUT IT WASN'T! And I didn't find any peace in my success! I didn't find any answer! This isn't just a role, it's- it's something that it's EATING me from the inside...!"

She pulled back her hood, the tears streaming down her face now impossible to tell apart from the rain. "And I have TRIED, Brynjolf- I have TRIED my HARDEST to fight against it, because I love the guild, because you're the closest thing to a family I have had since- since, gods- I don't want to do this...!" she sobbed, tilting her head upward at the grey sky "I don't want to, but I CAN'T- understand? I just _CAN'T_ win against this...!"

Brynjolf listened in bewildered silence, a part of him still SCREAMING at her, the other half, that little mortified piece of him that suddenly remembered all their whispered chats on her porch by the lake wanting to comfort her, to take it all back. His wounds, unfortunately, were greater than any rational thought at the moment. So when he spoke, he did it with disdain.

"... so- so what? So you just take up and leave? I get it, you've changed. We're a bunch of outlaws, in there, we might have a code of honor, but we aren't precisely picky when it comes to company- what- why, in the name of the Eight, should that be a problem, Julia? Why are you still trying to convince me that's enough reason to-"

"You sent Molgrom to jail for killing his targets, Brynjolf".

The thief was left speechless for a second, confused as to what that had to do with anything at the moment.

"... what?"

She sniffled, repeating herself with impatience, the noise from the rain surrounding them. "You, sent Molgrom, to jail, for _killing_ his targets".

He still seemed lost. "And? You haven't killed any target, if that's what you're implying. I would know." and he was sure of that. It wasn't something she could have hidden from him, not for long. Yet the affirmation came out in a whisper.

"No- no, but I had to _contain_ myself." she spit, her voice regaining some of its distinctive sharpness.

He studied her with unquiet eyes, trying to comprehend the implication of her words. And she felt like screaming again.

"Look, you- you have principles, rules you live by and you've told me, in the past, just what you think of... of people that- _kill_, pointlessly, people like Molgrom, or Mercer, or...!"

He gestured at her to stop talking, patting the air, his deep frown making him look ten years older by suddenly bringing to the surface his every little wrinkle and facial scar. "Stop, stop, stop... what you're saying is just-" he coughed, the freezing rain making him talk between gasps, "I get it! You have, _urges_, you've told me enough about how the whole _'having a dovah soul_' works to understand that, but- gods, Julia, no one is clean in the guild, and not all jobs can go smoothly. It's bad for business, and I'd rather not shed blood, yes- but we would understand if you _had_ to, we wouldn't- we trust you, **I** trust you to know that-" she flinched at that, dropping her gaze too quickly, "... what? What, you don't, uh, believe me? Really? After everything we-"

"No, no, Brynjolf, no, that's not..."

He let out a frustrated roar, his emotions too fickle.

"Would you stop THAT! _That's not- that's not-_ well, what on Oblivion is it?!"

Silence. She can't even look at him.

"**Julia.**" and she could swear he wasn't berating as much as he was _pleading_, "I'm standing under the freezing rain, trying to understand _why_ are you doing this. Trying to understand what could be- hopeless enough to drop everything and _FLEE_. And you're still- there is something you are **not** telling me."

She kept her eyes down, locked on her feet.

She should have left at dawn.

Slip away while they slept, leave a note and never look back.

It would've been easier.

_Everything_ would be easier if she could just get rid of that absurd stroke of virtue, an ill-fitted piece of righteousness forcefully shoved by godlike hands into the unsolved paradox that was her existence - a senseless race dominated by death, and blood, and craving for the depraved - tugging at the back of her mind and judging her every decision.

Once again confronted by her lack of answers, the red haired nord wheeled around and threw his hands in the air with a frustrated bellow. He stomped off, lifting mud with every step, away from her, to nowhere- and then stopped, pressing a hand to his forehead and foreseeing a huge migraine.

The source of his apprehensions raised her head, her eyes stuck on his back.

And opened her mouth to speak.

There was a tingle, before every battle.

A rousing sensation that flooded through her entire body whenever she drew her swords, the promise of a new victory making her _tremble_ in anticipation- and no matter how long the fight or how fatal the first strike, the final blow was always enough to blur her sight and reduce her into a sweating mess of ragged gasps and suppressed moans. That tingle had only increased as time passed, growing in intensity with every dovah she devoured, until the simple thought of her blade - _her teeth, her nails_ - drawing blood, _subjugating_, was enough to set her very soul on fire.

It was that thirst, that horrible thrill, what had led to this decision.

Yet, for a second, she wondered if she had imagined the whole thing- because she had _known_, the moment her mouth hung open, that she was about to hurt this man harder than any dagger could, but there were no flames, no anticipation; all she felt was an appalling vacuity.

"I killed Grelod."

"..."

Brynjolf turned around, an agonizingly slow turn that seemed to last centuries, until he was facing her. Perplexed.

For a while there was just a deafening silence, save for the splashing of rain against the stone walls and their shuddering breaths.

And, finally, his voice.

"Grelod?"

She nodded.

"... that old hag at the orphanage?"

Another nod.

Grelod the Kind. He had heard about it. Perhaps a month earlier. There was no mourning or sorrow for the woman when the news had spread. In fact, the great majority of them commented about how the kids were better off without her, and he understood why. There was, indeed, laughter and playful screaming coming from inside the building for the first time since it had been built, right on the same day the headmistress had been found dead on her bed.

If he heard it right, and he wasn't going mad, it had been Julia that killed her. But if it had only brought equal happiness or indifference from everybody, then-

He wasn't sure how to feel about it. There was something more to it.

And as if she could read his thoughts, she started explaining, her voice again low and blank of emotion.

"There was this boy, Aventus. Aventus Aretino. In Windhelm. You know I normally avoid that city as much as I can, but someone I know and lives there sent me a letter asking for help with a personal matter, and... Things were calm at the guild and I took some days off. When I first heard about the kid, I was in Whiterun. I had just had my first encounter with a dragon. Rumor had it that he was performing the Black Sacrament, trying to get the Dark Brotherhood's attention. Two years later, rumor's still spreading. Two years, Bryn." she took a moment before continuing, but the thief didn't make a sound, waiting in dead silence. "... I couldn't help it. I found him sitting next to a pile of bones, so thin he was almost a skeleton himself. He- He thought I was an assassin. That I had heard his pleas. His mother had died and with his father missing he got sent to Honorhall Orphanage. When he got sick of the abuse, he ran away, broke into his house and became obsessed with killing Grelod, to free the rest of kids. I tried to tell him he was wrong, that I was not who he thought, but- gods, if you had seen his face. The way he looked up at me."

She stopped for a second, her gaze lost in the bitter memory.

"... I tried to get him to come with me, but he refused. Said he'd go back to the orphanage once _it_ was done. He wasn't even listening. I brought him some food, some clothes, a blanket. I even went as far as to try and get the guards to help, but they wanted nothing to do with it. Scared by the whole thing." she snorted dryly, "_Scared._ But I was already gathering too much attention. Soon news would spread about the Dragonborn being in town and I refused to be pressured again to take sides once they reached Ulfric. I left the city promising myself I would find a way to get the kid to leave that place..."

She took another pause to clear her throat, the cold rain starting to soak through the coat. Brynjolf thought of saying something. Anything. _And did you?_ was the first thing that came to mind, but then again that wasn't the point. Honestly he was still lost about what could _be_ the point of her speech. He already knew about the lass' weakness for children. She had a girl of her own in Whiterun. Took the kid from the streets when she couldn't even take care of herself.

But a feeling of dread had started to take over him as soon as the Dark Brotherhood was mentioned, and he was trying his best to not let his mind wander and jump to conclusions.

He was fidgeting- shaking, even, and not just for being wet and cold.

He almost missed it when she started talking again, her voice too low against the noise from the storm.

"When I got back to Riften, I couldn't get the kid out of my head. I didn't plan to do anything, I swear. But- I can't even remember walking to the orphanage, all I know I was suddenly knocking at the door. I thought I could maybe drill some sense into Grelod. I had dealt with her before, without success- that time wasn't any different. And seeing how she treated the kids, the... the shackles in..." she lowered her head and inhaled sharply.

"..."

Shackles. He didn't know about the shackles.

"I think I screamed at her." she muttered. "I can't remember. I returned to the guild, tried to get my mind off it. I spent all day behind the desk, but I couldn't focus. That night I sat in bed while you were all sleeping, and..." she moved her head from one side to the other, with a light shrug. "I don't know. I cracked. I went out, sneaked into her room, and slit her throat."

"Julia." he interrupted her, almost in a sigh. "I don't... what's the point of telling me this? What does it have to do with...?"

She held a hand up, and despite his growing impatience, he complied. She appeared to consider something before talking.

"The point is. The point is, I loved it."

He remained unfazed. Julia wished she could stop there, but the words just came pouring out. "I loved the blood. The gurgles. The look on her face as she realized she was _dying_. That I was her executioner." it felt strange, to finally voice those thoughts. Therapeutic, in some twisted way. "Then the dreams started. Dreams about Sapphire, about Vex, Rune, and Thrynn. Everybody. Karliah. _You_. I would do horrible things." she whispered, "And it... it felt great." and at that his body went rigid, his eyes widening.

She couldn't stop, not now. She rushed before crushing under his judging stare.

"I-I would only... feel the remorse once I was awake. And I was so scared that I would end up hurting any of you, so I tried to get away for a while, stay at Honeyside to put myself back together. And the first night I slept there was when the Dark Brotherhood contacted me."

Ah. There it was. It didn't sting any less for expecting it, though. His eyes slid shut, tightly, finally understanding where she was getting at.

"Don't tell me..."

"I'll save you the details." she cut in. "You've heard enough. Those two weeks I vanished, they were the reason. They gave me a choice and... I took it."

By Nocturnal, his head was about to explode. He rubbed his temple, the other hand on his hip. He wanted to say so many things and at the same time he wanted to walk away and leave it at that. Forget it. Tell himself it wasn't that big of a deal and move on. Erase this woman and all the chaos that came with caring for her. Pick one hundred pockets and bed just as many women and drink twice his weight in mead and _leave it all behind_.

"I'm sorry, Bryn."

Damn Akatosh and his whole family line, why was she still there- how hard did he have to close his eyes so he could make her disappear?

"If I stayed... Working for the guild, the thrill I got from the assignments, it used to keep it at bay, like a soft drug. Used to. And sooner or later bandits, uncooperative targets- it wouldn't be enough. For me it isn't a matter of choice, like it was for Sapphire or Cynric, when they chose wealth over... over what the Dark Brotherhood entails. I would turn into something far worse than Mercer." she spoke softly, and her voice sounded closer than before. "I can't do that to you. To the guild."

She remembered not without pain the day she had snapped at Vipir over an insignificant slip in his otherwise spotless report, and how her unyielding fury had melted away into confusion followed by genuine fear once she had realized her unjustified outburst and seen the way her surrounding comrades observed her with evident alarm and guarded poses. She had whispered an apology and congratulated him for a job well done after that, trying to play it off as a playful joke, but things had been awfully awkward even days afterwards the incident.

And that was just one of the many that would follow until her inevitable breakdown. She would rather die before seeing the day Mercer would walk in her shadow. And seeing her instinct of survival refused to step back, leaving the guild was the only option left.

At some point, the rain had stopped. They were both still saturated, and shivering ever so slightly. The sky stayed a light grey, however, announcing a second round.

He didn't respond immediately. It took him half a minute to recover his breath. Another half a minute to open his eyes and properly look at her, both hands on his hips. Julia couldn't tell if that was sadness or resignation on his face.

"You could have... told me." his voice was hardly a murmur, fatigued, in contrast to his recent screaming. "I could have helped, maybe, we..."

She looked aside, pursing her lips.

"I- honestly didn't know how."

"What do you mean?"

Her eyes met his own - making him shudder with their proximity - accompanied by a deliberate arch of her brow.

"Yeah... that." she sighed, looking to the side again and holding back a cough.

"Huh?"

She rolled her eyes. It had been hard enough to pour all of that on him. She really didn't feel like approaching _this_ subject. It just felt so trivial at the moment.

"Look, it doesn't matter. I would have taken this path, regardless. It's not something nor you nor anybody could have prevented."

"No, no, don't do that."

She puffed. "Do what?"

"Don't absolve me. I- after all I've thrown at you. Just tell me what made you think that." he sounded absolute, yet somehow, as much as he hated to admit it, he already knew the answer.

She shifted hesitatingly, her gaze still on the far stone wall. "You were angry. _Are_ angry. It's fine."

His words had been like a stab to the chest, but she couldn't blame him for that- truth often hurts, especially after what felt like an eternity of running away from it.

"No. I know it's not fine." he said, mirroring her earlier words.

The Dovahkiin took a deep breath, wiping her damp face. She fleetingly wished she hadn't shaved her head all those weeks ago. Her old dark strands of hair would have been perfect to hide her face, instead of giving Brynjolf an open view of her every little twitch or gesture.

She owed him an explanation for that, and she knew it. After all the times they confided in each other and that he had listened to her midnight rants, it was the least she could give him. But she couldn't find the way to put it down without turning it into an accusation.

"Okay. If you want the truth. I just felt as if you were avoiding me." she shrugged, choosing her words carefully, "I mean... I don't know. It wasn't immediate. You just- you started to drift away after the party, when I turned guildmaster. Then suddenly you were always too busy to talk with me. Only about business, and always in a rush." she looked down, pushing the wet grass aside with her foot, realizing she was mimicking Lucia right after being caught eating a third sweetroll and feeling ridiculous for it. "I mean, it's no surprise you didn't see this coming, Bryn. Almost everyone in the guild had already noticed the way I just kept... degenerating. But you were trying so hard to evade me, and- I don't know, I just had no idea how to even start talking about it." she exhaled long and loudly, pursing her lips.

On his side, Brynjolf wished they could go back to screaming at each other. Then he remembered he was the one who insisted on pushing the subject, and forced himself to find the right words.

"Uhm..." not a good start. "Well. I guess, I didn't realize. I didn't notice I was neglecting you like that, I mean- I became a little absorbed, working to find new recruits, getting the guild back on its feet..." even worse, now he was the one making up excuses.

She flashed him with one of her wry smiles, tainted by the recent exchange of shouts and finger-pointing, but all _hers_.

"And releasing steam with Tonilia?"

Ouch.

His hands slid off his hips. Low blow.

Was it really that obvious?

It was casual sex, nothing serious. Some screwing around in the Ratway and then back to work. Tonilia made it clear she wanted to stay with Vekel- loved him, in her own way, and Brynjolf was absolutely fine with that, being a humble admirer of the woman's amazingly firm bottom and looking for nothing else.

It was true that, while facing those complicated, alien feelings towards Julia, he had tried to find himself in the redguard with certainly more frequency than they were accustomed to. To the point she had rejected him with a '_look, I could care less about what's going on between you and the boss- but I can only let you picture her face on my nape for too long before it gets awkward_', then she had patted his shoulder with sympathy and told him to get his shit together least he missed the carriage.

Instead of listening he had gone to the bunkhouse, and to the tavern, to find new '_ways_' to wash the girl off his mind. Because it was wrong, because it was _Julia_, his former protégée, a young girl that looked up to him and for his advice and opinion, and if anything happened it wouldn't start with a _just a_, it would be _the_, a frightening, big _THE_, and immense stuff scared him.

He was a man of little bounds and simple tastes, his only big commitment with Nocturnal, and he liked it that way- only knew that way.

But his cleansing had little success, and all he gained were a few well-earned slaps in between tasteless lays.

Did she know about those, too?

"... it's, nothing serious." he didn't know why he was justifying himself, "She's with Vekel and, we never really think-" where was his sharp tongue when he needed it?

She quickly stopped his chatter.

"Enough. You don't owe me an explanation." there was no incrimination in her tone, he noted. Which didn't make him feel any better.

Julia dropped her gaze, both hands on her hips to keep her fingers from twitching. "Look, I... I know what it's like. You know. To not know how to handle your emotions. I admit, I too- well, I guess I felt something, as well. Between us." she shrugged casually, despite the fact that _something_ was still present, because what would she gain from telling him that? Why make it harder for him to move past this? "And I guess that's also one of the reasons why it was hard for me to reach to you. I don't know. You said not to absolve you, so I admit to being a little upset with you at first. Not because of Tonilia or anything like that" she rushed to clarify, "Just- wished we could talk it over a bottle of mead like we normally did, it's all." she shrugged again, unable to meet his eyes twice, not at the moment. "But like I said, it would have changed nothing. In fact, it would have made things a lot harder. For all of us. So... yeah."

Silence reigned between them again, both thief and dovahkiin shifting their weight from one foot to the other and avoiding gazes.

The ginger felt, on top of his throbbing headache and the pain for her departure, a brutal tightness in his chest. Not only had he missed the carriage, just like Tonilia had predicted- it had run past him, he had chased after it and then tripped over his own feet, falling face first.

A flush of embarrassment crept up the old thief's neck as he realized that a great part of the reason for his recent snap was the anger he had been harboring over his own weakness, imploding at last.

They both seemed uncertain of where to go from there.

But, just like every time they had been faced with a dilemma - such as whether to fight the Falmers or sneak past them, or if they should pursue their next big but risky hit - the girl had been the one to take the plunge, she was also the first to break their muteness, opting to chuckle.

"You know- while we're on the subject of, bringing up each other's faults. You're a bit of an hypocrite." she let out a cheerless laugh at his flitting expression, "Don't get me wrong, I- I'm not trying to say you weren't right, but... well, Bryn, you've been second-in-command for how long?" she asked, tilting her head.

Another perfectly aimed strike. The time spent in the guild had surely turned her as fast with her tongue as she was with a sword.

The nord smiled at the thought, in spite of her charges.

"... aye. Guess you got me there." he resigned, because what else could he reply to that. He was a go-between, and a recruiter, a trainer, a problem-solver, his loyalty always laying with the guild- but a go-between, and by choice. Leading just wasn't for him.

And lying to her would lead nowhere. Secrets between them simply never lasted.

"I always thought that was the main reason I was guildmaster." she added, "So you didn't have to. I mean, it was strange, being the only one out of us three that wasn't a Nightingale. I understand Karliah had been away from the guild for too long, but..." and she kept smiling that damn broken smile of hers, "I don't know. And then the way you avoided me when things got- hm, weird. Between us." she put her arms down, letting her soggy coat wrap around her front, and again drilled him with her gaze. "You blame me of running away- and you're right, but in the end, we both are better jailbreakers than thieves, huh?"

He reflected on the metaphor for a while before replying.

"Nah... no, lass. You actually try your best to serve your time before escaping. All I ever do is evade getting caught in the first place."

Because despite her flaws, she had tried to be a hero. She had tried to be guildmaster. She had tried to stay with him.

And that was more than he could say for himself.

She attempted a response, but her voice was faint and hoarse. She had been talking for too long, maybe subconsciously delaying the inevitable. She had to leave, sooner or later. Yet she kept waiting for her former mentor to give her the final answer. To put an end to their eternal and turbulent farewell.

Brynjolf observed Julia, in thoughtful silence.

Somehow, that young girl covered in grime and patched up leather, that irritable and distrustful big child who hardly fit her armor and longed for approval that he had taken under his wing, had transformed into the woman standing in front of him, a tough warrior with the experience of one thousand life-times in her eyes and the consequent scars marking her skin and spirit.

It happened right under his nose, and he, as busy as he was trying to overlook it- well, managed to do just that.

But her chest at the guild was empty, her key to the safe now with Karliah, and after everything that had been said under the rain, the reality of her choice fell like a giant stone on his shoulders, crushing under its weight any hope for redemption.

It was time to let go.

The old thief took a vacillating step towards her, yearning to hug her one last time, putting aside the path she had chosen to follow.

However, the young imperial made no advance, barely shifting under her coat as any reaction, and he understood that a hug was also out of the picture.

"Well." he cleared his throat, the cold finally getting to him and nothing else, probably, "Promise to stay safe, eh?" was all he managed to utter.

And that was the signal she was expecting.

She inhaled deeply before nodding, giving him one final, tight smile and putting her hood back on. After a long internal struggle, she forced herself to turn around and start walking.

The red haired nord helplessly watched her march when she suddenly stopped dead in her tracks and looked over her shoulder, the hood preventing her face from showing.

"Uhm... I know the guild has, connections, where I am going. And I'll try my best to keep this a secret, but- if it ever comes out... If they ever discover the truth, could you... will you apologize to them, for me?"

Brynjolf realized only after her question that by 'them' she meant the rest of members from the guild. He bit his inner cheek.

"Yes. Yes, I will." he said, then cautiously added, "I hope you find your answers."

She lowered her head, in gratitude, he guessed.

The woman seemed to hesitate for a moment, as if to say something, but no words came out.

Then she turned away, fastening her pace, and he watched until her coat disappeared around the corner.

Brynjolf stayed there for a while, even after the rain returned, his eyes stuck on the place where he had last seen her vanish.

Not even the falling water managed to wash away her presence, always followed by that vague scent of ashes.

He was gone by the time the sky had cleared.

* * *

><p>The following weeks after Julia's parting had been a slow, difficult process of recovery for those in the guild that had been keen about her since the moment she ever started to stand out, consequently developing a certain bond with the new recruit long before she ascended to guildmaster.<p>

There was a gloomy atmosphere in the normally animated tavern, sometimes the only noises reverberating in the circular chamber belonging to the working merchants or Arnskar's hammer.

Vex had been namely colorful about her feelings, the days she wasn't blazing a chair in raging silence.

The few of them that had smaller connections with the imperial had taken the news with resignation, but mostly curiosity. They had shared whispered thoughts on the matter for a few days and then resumed to their usual routine.

The surprise, however, had been general. It's not everyday that your boss reunites you all in a circle and tells you she's leaving because she's the hero of prophecy that saved Tamriel from a giant, world-eating dragon.

In spite of the sudden change of events, Nocturnal's blessing was still on their part, and they should - for obvious reasons - count themselves lucky for that. Karliah had taken on the role as guildmaster, feeling in debt with the girl after all that happened, and with their recovered influence across Skyrim, something they also had their former leader to thank for, it had been a lot easier for her and the great majority to bury their frustration in jobs and focus on business.

For the great majority, yes, but not for the second-in-command.

From the first day it had been a unspoken rule to not bring up the subject around the red haired nord. The strong affection he processed towards who had started as his pupil had always been terribly obvious for the attentive eye, and it hadn't gone unnoticed to anybody when he had chased after her the day she left, returning an hour later, drenched and with an inscrutable expression tightening his features.

So sullen was his mood that even Tonilia decided to save him the 'I told you so.', leaving him alone to get over it.

At some point he went back to his usual behavior, smooth talking his way out of silly bets and commenting with friendly sarcasm on his fellow thieves' training. Maybe he laughed out loud at any little thing with disconcerting frequency, and maybe, when they would sit down to share a drink, he would gulp down way too many bottles of mead. But those who noticed chose to leave it be. Everybody had their own way of coping.

Karliah, from her part, would try her best to aid the old thief in his recovery, often asking for his help and opinion as second-in-command and getting him distracted with paperwork, correspondence and little assignments inside of Riften. Sapphire would willingly tag along during the latest, entertaining her good friend with stories and jokes and whatever she could come up with, worried as well about his emotional state. And for what was worth, it appeared to help.

What neither of them saw were the times when, standing in his spot at the market, making up new miraculous beverages, he'd unconsciously sharpen his hearing, eavesdropping on the passing guards' conversations for mentions of dragons or their mythical slayer; neither did they notice when, those rare times he spotted mentions of the Dark Brotherhood in Maven's letters, he'd push the paper aside with excessive force.

What he didn't see coming, what he had no shield drawn for, happened on one of those busy days when he had a group of outsiders eyeing his new Mammoth's Scrotum Essence, fantastic hair-restorer. Just when he was about to make the sale, there was a high-pitched squeal somewhere to his right, and when he turned to look, he spotted a bunch of children from the orphanage circling around a young boy, bouncing and laughing just outside the main door. One of them screamed it: 'Aventus! It's Aventus, he's back!'

He couldn't sell a single bottle that day.

It was on that same night. His body, sore and heavy, refused to succumb to slumber. He had tried to speed it up with a few meads, but now he was tired and drunk and still couldn't sleep.

He sat on his bed, listening to their light snoring and the murmuring water. His mind wandering and thinking of how she had been in that exact position, right before breaking.

And that single thought of her was enough to pull the lever.

He made his way out of the cistern and through the dark streets of Riften in a blur, his feet dragging him across the bridge and stopping in front of Honeyside's main entrance.

It took him longer than what his pride of thief would dare to admit to open the door, alcohol making him falter and fumble with the lockpick for a few minutes, dropping it a few times as well, but he finally got the damn click.

A faint gasp escaped him as soon as the scene hit him. He had expected the house to be bare, wider without furniture and devastatingly empty.

But the place had been left untouched.

Even her books were still invading both her bed and the floor, like the last time he had come over.

The only differences were the thin blanket of dust covering every surface, the rotting fruits in a bowl on the kitchen's table and the pile of charred firewood beneath the cooking pot.

If you ignored the clear symptoms of abandonment, it was hard to believe she had ever left. As if at any given moment she'd come up the stairs from the basement, complaining about her lack of skill for alchemy, showing him a blue tongue and inviting him to dinner between laughs.

The memory stung him like a poisoned arrow. He let himself fall back against the door, closing it with his weight, and took in his surroundings with a slow turn of the head.

That's when something caught his attention. He squinted his eyes at the white spot on the bedside table. His range of vision was presently limited by the mead in his veins, so he couldn't make out what was about it that called him.

Subtly swaying, he lurched across the kitchen and into the bedroom, letting himself drop onto the bed with a grunt. Vertigo overtake him the second he opened his eyes, wondering why the world had suddenly rotated, immediately understanding he had fallen to the side and his head was resting on a pillow.

On her pillow.

He wondered what it would've been like, to lay with her in bed.

To hug her slender frame and bury his nose in her rebel hair and kiss her every scar as she whispered his name between breathless laughs.

His eyes rolled up, laying on the folded note.

A note?

He sobered up in an instant, clumsily pushing himself up and staring at the piece of paper. When he took the note with a shaking hand something slid from between its folds, hitting the wooden floor with a dull noise.

He bent forward not without effort, picking it up and holding it in front of his face.

His amulet hung from its chain, slowly spinning in place.

He travelled his eyes up and down the necklace, dumbfounded.

He had given it to Julia, the day she became guildmaster. He had almost forgotten. What was it doing here?

_The note._

Still holding the amulet in one hand, he unfolded the note with the other, and immediately recognized her hand-writing. Small letters of sharp edges and vast spaces.

_Brynjolf-_

_I knew the new lock wouldn't be a challenge for you. _

_I hope that by the time you've found this note I'm just a distant memory. The last thing I want is to do more harm._

_Keep your amulet. Find a new recruit, train them hard and make them earn it. _

_You have been my mentor, my friend and my savior. There are a lot of potential thieves out there waiting for someone just like that to guide them. _

_I have the memories to keep me going. _

_Thanks for everything. And sorry again. Really. Stay safe, you old cat._

_- J_

He reread the note once. Twice. A third time. Turned it around, in case he missed anything.

He folded it again, leaving it back on the table with his eyes on the amulet. He put both hands on his lap and started fidgeting with the ornament, absent-minded, her words gradually sinking in.

He could do that. He could. He would get over this. Learn from it. Find a young lad or lass, lost in life, and give them a purpose. He would be himself again.

Rob fortunes, bed queens and his only chain that with the shadows.

He would later tell himself that the clouds invading his view were just another consequence of his intoxication.

That the reason why he laid down in that bed was the cistern being too far away for his drunken feet.

And that the sudden craving to hold her was nothing but a reaction to the smell coming from the fireplace.

A faint scent of ashes.


End file.
